


I Was Waiting

by kinfic2



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 19:12:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4274778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinfic2/pseuds/kinfic2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Late Season 4</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Was Waiting

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my LJ in 2008

_“I’ve been waiting for a guy like you to come into my life. I’ve been waiting for someone new to make me feel alive.”_ _©Gramm/Jones_

 

BRIAN’S POV:

    

     I’d been waiting for him for an hour. I will admit with extreme reluctance it was one of my more pathetic decisions. Any idea what I could do in an hour, even without serious consideration? In my previous incarnation as Fuck King of Liberty Avenue, I’d be in Babylon’s back room, experiencing the talents of whoever was on Cock Patrol. That I had been standing on the fucking street corner for so long, bombarded with irrational and illogical fears about why he was late, could be the single cause of global warming or gay marriage. Another item added to the ‘what the fuck?’ list associated with Justin.

     It was an unfortunate set of circumstances that forced us together. That’s all it was, nothing more, nothing less. Even though Sunshine likes to think it was ‘fate,’ I say it was one of those shitty cards that life deals people every day. Because absolutely fucking nothing in this entire world would have allowed me to remotely consider for one second to become a Stepford couple—I really could gag at that term—like Ben and Mikey or a pair of dykes like Linz and Mel. Yep, that was definitely the reason, an unfortunate set of circumstances.

     The thing is, I’m queer. Almost all my friends, my really close friends, are queer, and like it or not, accept it or not, queers don’t do the love thing. Queers do the fuck thing. End of story. Show me a queer who wants to march down the aisle in matching Vera Wangs and I’ll show you someone whose sprightly spirit has left this plane of existence for that thumping Babylon in the sky. I mean, what the fuck is so great about being queer if there isn’t rampant, promiscuous fuck me, suck me sex? Isn’t that what it’s all about? Isn’t that what it means to be queer? Isn’t that one of the reasons why so many straight people hate us, because we do what society tells them they can’t do or shouldn’t do?

     I admit Justin was right. A lot of people really do hate us and want us dead simply because of who we are or what we are. Like Chris Hobbs. But hate is something certain groups have to face one time or another. What matters is how each person deals with it. Even though Justin had as much right as anyone, if not more, to strike out at those who hated him because he was queer, it scared the shit out of me, particularly when I found the gun Crazy Cody so generously gave him.

     He changed during that time. He was a stranger to me. I didn’t know how to deal with him, how to make him see that violence wasn’t the answer, because regardless of the motive or the right, he would have turned into one of them. He would have become a hater, and out of all the character-specific labels in the English language, that wasn’t Justin.  

     Bottom line? I was fucking terrified I’d get a call from Carl saying he'd been arrested for manslaughter or murder, or the unthinkable, that the police found his body somewhere.

     Bottom line? I wouldn’t even consider that maybe, just maybe, he meant something to me.    

     Bottom line? I can finally admit now what I couldn’t admit then. I didn’t want to lose him. I couldn’t lose him—not then, not now.

     One thing is certain, though. When the little shit smugly announced ‘I’m on to you,’ he didn’t have a clue, and neither did I, that my tarnished heart already knew and was relieved and happy. The damaged and rusted organ that had kept me physically alive all these years now keeps me alive emotionally. Thanks to a blond miracle I didn’t deserve, it’s regained some of its long-lost luster. __

_                       
_

_“Somebody know me too well. Somebody pull me up short, put me through hell and give me support for being alive._  
_Someone I have to let in. Someone who’ll force me to care. Someone who, like it or not, will want me to share being alive.”_ _©S.Sondheim_

_         
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End file.
